


Peace

by CPFics



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPFics/pseuds/CPFics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Aramis awoke breathing heavily and soaked in his own sweat. But then, he was used to that.</i>
</p><p>Aramis seeks comfort after his nightmares reach their worst ever, and d'Artagnan gets a bit of a shock (although not necessarily a bad one).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace

Aramis awoke breathing heavily and soaked in his own sweat. But then, he was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was the feeling of terror and panic remaining so long after waking, the way his insides turned to lead at the thought of going back to sleep. The nightmares had been particularly bad that night. He looked over to his window, where a weak orange light was filtering through the gaps in the shutters. Just about dawn, then. He heaved himself out of bed and splashed cold water over his face, trying to rid himself of the images branded onto the back of his eyelids. He looked at his reflection in the water: his hair was plastered to his face, his skin was pale, and the shadows under his eyes were so dark he looked like he’d been punched.

It made sense that things had been getting worse. Marsac’s return had brought everything back with a terrifying clarity and then…. He supposed he must be suppressing it, unconsciously, but that it was gradually leaking through his barriers. The idea that they might yet get even worse than they already were made him feel ill. So ill, in fact, that he found himself just a few seconds later leaning heavily on the rim of a bucket, his mouth full of the taste of bile. He collapsed back against his bed with a noise that he would never admit to being a sob.

*

Athos started awake at the sound of the door-latch lifting. He instinctively reached for his sword, before his eyes cleared and he recognised Aramis’ face looking in shyly - they and Porthos had long since dispensed of anything so formal as knocking.

“‘Mis? It’s barely dawn. What is it?” he asked, rubbing the remnants of sleep out of his eyes. When he looked up again he registered how haunted his friend looked, and climbed to his feet. Aramis walked into the room and closed the door behind him, before placing his hat on the window sill. His shoulders slumped.

“It’s getting worse,” he said, his voice shaking. “Worse than it’s ever been.”

He didn’t need to explain any more than that: Porthos and Athos were both well aware of Aramis’ demons.

Athos stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Aramis’ waist. Aramis fell forward against him, his head buried in Athos’ shoulder. It was only when Aramis sniffed and raised a hand to rub his eyes that Athos realised his friend was crying.

“Aramis,” he whispered sympathetically, pushing Aramis’ hair back from his face. Aramis’ eyes closed in pain, and Athos leaned up to kiss him. Aramis returned the kiss gratefully, using it to push his nightmares from his brain. Athos guided him to the bed and they fell down onto it, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies. Aramis sighed as the tension left his body.

They both looked up as the door opened again and Porthos let himself.

“I saw Mis’ hat on the windowsill,” he said, by way of explanation. Aramis, pushing himself up on his elbow from his place on top of Athos, made a longing sound in his throat and held his free arm out to Porthos.

“What is it?” Porthos asked, shucking off his jacket and crouching down next to the bed as Aramis wrapped his arm around his neck and leaned against him.

“His nightmares are getting worse,” said Athos, sparing Aramis the trouble. Aramis’ arm tightened around Porthos.

“Oh, Mis,” said Porthos, pulling himself on to the bed as best he could with Aramis still hanging around his neck. Athos shuffled over, taking Aramis with him, to give him some room. Aramis curled tightly against Porthos side, and Athos shifted so that he was lying with his front flush against Aramis’ back, one arm wrapped protectively around his middle.

Porthos loosely took hold of a fistful of Aramis’ hair, and used it to pull his head up so that they were facing.

“You want us to take your mind off it?” he asked, moving his hand down to cup Aramis’ cheek. Aramis nodded, nuzzling Porthos’ palm. Porthos’ grip tightened and he pulled Aramis’ lips against his own, causing a moan of pleasure to escape from Aramis. Athos trailed kisses over Aramis back, neck and shoulder, before leaning over him to take the shell of Porthos’ ear between his lips.

“Roll over,” he whispered, and Porthos did as he was told, rolling himself on top of Aramis. “Sit behind him.”

Again Porthos followed Athos’ instruction, pulling Aramis into a sitting position, before sliding behind him, one leg on either side. He leaned back against the wall and pulled Aramis against him, and pulled Aramis shirt off over his head. Athos knelt astride Aramis’ legs, claiming his mouth while Porthos sucked and bit at his neck, and started working at the lacing of Aramis’ trousers. He took his weight from Aramis’ legs and Aramis lifted his hips so that he could pull his trousers down, along with his undergarments.

Aramis was half-hard, and Athos took him in hand as he returned to kissing his mouth, bringing him to full hardness. Athos himself was straining against his trousers, and Aramis could feel Porthos’ hardness pressing against the base of his spine.

Athos left Aramis’ mouth to begin placing kisses on his leg, working his way from his knee up his thigh, until he reached the skin at the base of his cock. He nuzzled his face into the hair there.

Just then, there came a knock at the door, and d’Artagnan’s voice calling Athos’ name. All three of them froze, staring at the door in alarm.

“Athos, are you in there?”

Athos swallowed, unsure whether he would be better off responding to the Gascon or ignoring him.

“Athos? Athos, I’m going to knock the door in.”

Athos’ eyes flicked to Porthos and Aramis, who mirrored his expression of wide-eyed fear. Before anyone could think of a response, though, d’Artagnan crashed shoulder-first into the room. When he registered the sight before him, it was as if he’d been turned to stone. Porthos, with his lips still fastened around the skin at the base of Aramis’ neck, Athos with his face buried in Aramis’ pubic hair, and Aramis himself, sprawled out naked between them, his hands curled in Porthos’ trouser legs.

“Oh, my goodness, I- I-” d’Artagnan stammered, taking a step backwards and hastily shutting the door. “I didn’t- I mean I-”

“Like what you see,” said Porthos, raising his lips from the mark he was leaving on Aramis and nodding his head towards the obvious bulge in the younger man’s trousers. d’Artagnan’s arms twitched as if he’d thought about trying to cover himself up, but decided there was no point.

“Come here,” said Aramis, releasing Porthos’ trouser leg and holding an arm out to d’Artagnan, who hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and took Aramis’ hand. Aramis pulled him forward further, until their lips met. d’Artagnan stilled, his shoulders tense, but when Aramis let go of his hand and reached up to tangle his fingers in the younger man’s hair instead, d’Artagnan breathed in sharply and began to return the kiss. Porthos took a fistful of the Gascon’s shirt and used it to pull d’Artagnan over Aramis so that he was sitting on the wall side of the bed. Athos raised his eyebrows at Porthos, who shrugged slightly, returning to the hickey he’d been sucking into Aramis’ collarbone before they’d been interrupted. Smirking, Athos returned his attention to Aramis’ leaking cock.

Now that Aramis was supporting himself on d’Artagnan, Porthos had his hands free, and took the opportunity to free his cock from the confines of his trousers, his mouth never leaving Aramis’ skin. He shifted closer to Aramis’ back, and rutted against him, moaning at the friction. He heard Aramis breathe a laugh against d’Artagnan’s lips.

Aramis took d’Artagnan’s hand from his waist and guided it behind him, to where he could feel Porthos’ cock against his back. d’Artagnan yelped as he realised what he was holding, but Aramis immediately caught his lip between his teeth, and Porthos combed a reassuring hand through his hair, and he relaxed, letting Porthos thrust into his hand.

d’Artagnan didn’t feel totally comfortable kissing Aramis while bringing off Porthos, so he broke the kiss, leaning past Aramis to rub his face into Porthos’ neck until the older man turned to face him, and then capturing his lips. Aramis leaned right back until he could pluck at the skin on Porthos’ jaw with his teeth, his hips bucking involuntarily into Athos’ mouth. Athos moved his hands to pin Aramis’ hips against the bed.

Aramis could feel his climax building, between Athos swirling his tongue around his cock and the feeling of d’Artagnan pumping behind him, and Porthos’ pre-come moistening his back. He tugged gently on Athos’ hair to warn him, but Athos merely reached up and tangled their fingers together. Aramis bucked one more time and came into Athos’ mouth. The sight of Athos with a trail of come dripping from his chin, combined with the feeling of Aramis shuddering on top of him and d’Artagnan’s hand on his cock meant Porthos followed barely a second later.

Athos swallowed and wiped his chin, before grabbing d’Artagnan and pulling him away from a gasping Porthos. He pushed d’Artagnan’s jacket off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor, then crushed their lips together, pushing d’Artagnan against the wall and grinding into his lap. d’Artagnan gasped and fisted his hands in Athos’ shirt, pulling him closer. Athos reached down to fumble with each of their trousers, pulling their cocks free. He held them both as they moved against each other, and neither of them lasted long. They both slumped, resting their heads on the other’s shoulder.

When he had recovered his breath, d’Artagnan released Athos shirt and shifted his head until their lips met. They kissed gently and lazily for a few minutes until d’Artagnan sighed.

“We should go,” he muttered against Athos’ lips. “Treville will start wondering where we are.”

Athos kissed him again, then nodded and lifted himself from the younger man’s lap, pulling off his trousers so that he could change into a clean pair. d’Artagnan leaned over to wake Aramis, but Athos caught him.

“Not Aramis - he needs the rest,” he said. “Just wake Porthos. We’ll tell Treville that Aramis was taken ill during the night.”

d’Artagnan nodded and gave Porthos’ shoulder a light shake. As Porthos had barely settled into a light doze, he stirred at once. d’Artagnan whispered something in his ear and Porthos nodded, gesturing to Athos to hand him a cloth. Athos did, and Porthos used it to clean the mess from Aramis’ back, before carefully sliding from the bed and laying Aramis down gently. He looked down at himself.

“Next time,” he said quietly, “someone remind us to undress first.”

Athos stifled a laugh, before he pulled a further two pairs of trousers out of his drawer. He handed one pair of trousers to Porthos, and the other to d’Artagnan.

“d’Artagnan, borrow Aramis’ shirt. I doubt they’ll fit perfectly,” he said. “But I don’t expect it will be too noticeable.”

Once they were all presentable, they crept out of Athos’ room and gently closed the door behind them, leaving Aramis in peace, and set off for the barracks. Aramis was still there, peacefully compensating for weeks of disturbed sleep, when they returned that evening.


End file.
